Salvage by Rantarian
by Kateri87
Summary: The misadventures of Australian ex-serviceman, Adrian Saunders who is subjected to an alien-super serum. He tends towards a good-humored approach to things in order to keep himself reasonably sane. Part of the larger Jenkinsverse universe. Cross posted with permission from the author.
1. SEASON 1 CHAPTER 1 Salvage

Disclaimers:

This story is being cross posted from Reddit with permission from the author, Rantarian.

Link to the original work(remove spaces): Reddit. C om. /r/HFY/wiki/series/salvage

Link to the author' Pat re on(remove spaces): pat re on. C om. / Rantarian

This is part of the larger Jenkinsverse universe. There are 9 chapters of associated works before chapter 1 of Salvage. If you care to read the larger series, please follow the link to the Essential Reading Order (remove spaces): reddit. C om. / r/HFY/wiki/ref/universes/jenkinsverse/essential_reading_order

* * *

Original author's notes:

Where relevant, measurements and explanation are given in brackets following their alien names.

* * *

**Salvage**

**By Rantarian**

**Season 1 | Chapter 1**

**Salvage**

* * *

Bekmer stood waiting in the cavernous flight deck of the Zhadersil, an ancient and automatically maintained carrier ship that had managed to survive the destruction of the V'strak war machine that had spawned it a fifth of a galactic cycle ago [~50 million years] in the last Age. That it still existed in one piece was astounding, that it had still been somewhat functional when Bekmer and his team moved in had been nothing short of a miracle. Nobody would have normally thought to investigate a chunk of space rock orbiting an unremarkable Class 10 Deathworld - the latter was more worthy of attention by any measure - and yet a routine scan had uncovered something astounding. The outer hull had been pock marked and covered with enough space dust to credibly disguise the ship as a natural piece of space debris, it had been a simple case of being in the right place at the right time.

Bekmer, and the few members of his salvage crew, had stumbled upon the find of a lifetime - the Corti Directorate would be particularly pleased, once they found out about it - and it was certain to make the entire crew wealthy, and Bekmer himself fabulously so. The ship was in no condition for movement, however, and as a result Bekmer had kept the discovery quiet for the past few cycles while the many necessary repairs were made to restore the ship to even a mere vestige of a threatening military vessel. This deathworld was uninterestingly known only by its coordinate set, cursorily scanned by exploration drones and was well beyond the borders of any recognized government, and Bekmer was damned if he was going to try and fly a barely space-worthy fortune through uncontrolled space.

"Remind me why we are doing this again?" Bekmer asked, his gaze set disapprovingly on the Micro-Freighter that had just put down. Even the smallest freighter ships were large vessels, dwarfing the smaller salvage vessel that had borne the salvage crew to the Zhadersil, but against the vastness of the ancient ship's flight deck it seemed ridiculously toy-like. "Restorations are proceeding as scheduled, and the weapons will soon be active. This is a distraction we cannot afford."

Treoffa, his immediate subordinate and sometimes mate exhaled sharply through her nostrils in a show of indignant frustration. "They're not active yet, and our sensor buoys have detected faint Hunter activity in systems nearby. Not to mention the possibility of any pirate vessels who might have chosen to make their base out here."

"Still..." Bekmer said, although more hesitantly after the mention of the vicious creatures who ate the flesh of fellow sentient beings, "we're practically invisible here. We barely found the ship by accident; we weren't even looking for V'strak relics since you'll recall that none were supposed to exist. Besides, we've even got the cloaking field up, now."

"We are acutely vulnerable!" hissed Treoffa. "We both know the extent of the Hunters' expertise with cloaking technology! Do you wish to underestimate their expertise at detecting the cloaking fields of others? This is a microscopic expense compared to what we stand to lose if this vessel is taken from us!"

Bekmer opened his mouth to make some retort, but was interrupted by the hiss of machinery as the Micro-Freighter opened its containment bay for inspection, lowering the cargo lift on powerful pneumatics to reveal four white and gleaming cylindrical pods that hinted at containing something more interesting than everyday weapons. These were stasis pods, and from the way the indicators blinked on them they were all occupied with the internal temporal suppression fields fully active. The devices used a variant of the FTL drive to store whatever was inside of them in total suspended animation for as long as they had power.

Azhiz, the Robalin the two Corti entrepreneurs had entrusted with the task of returning with such cargo, crawled forth from his pilots hatch with an eager grin on his face, as if barely able to contain his excitement. He was an uncivilized sort, even for a Robalin, wearing clothing with highly contrasting colours and with many of his soft green scales stained into a vibrant yellow. No doubt some preposterous attempt to declare his individuality to the galaxy. He was, however, refreshingly mercenary and had thus far served the salvage crew well, although Treoffa and Bekmer had both ensured that the Robalin had had nothing to do with his species' ambition to uncover the ultimate bio-warfare weapon.

His lack of involvement did not mean that they had to like him.

"Azhiz," Bekmer greeted the Robalin coldly, "you have been asked to bring us soldiers. I trust you have not wasted your time or our funds?"

Azhiz was used to such a reception, and if he was still bothered by it, he didn't show it. "Master Bekmer," he softly hissed as he bowed subserviently, "I have done entirely as you wished. All are combat-capable individuals, and each has been... enthusiastically encouraged to follow any orders given to them."

"Cerebral Detonators?" Bekmer asked. It was what he had asked for, but it never hurt to confirm - especially when dealing with a Robalin. Cerebral detonators were cheap, unobvious, and exceptionally effective at ensuring that the implantee followed orders. They would eventually degrade, but only long after the ship had been salvaged and as such long after the implantees services were required.

"Indeed," Azhiz asked, maintaining his subservient posture. "However, I regret to inform you that one of the subjects was... damaged."

"Damaged?" Treoffa interjected sharply. "The pods appear to be functional and undamaged. What have you done, Azhiz?"

Azhiz grew outwardly uncomfortable, his posture more submissive. "The fourth subject awoke during surgery," he said, with slow deliberation. "The fault was with the surgeon."

"Brain damage?!" Treoffa asked. "We can't have a brain-damaged soldier running around! That'd be more dangerous than the Hunters!"

"N-no," Azhiz replied, "he had not yet been operated on. He was damaged as necessary to capture him, and it proved necessary to employ a Strike-Drone's main cannon."

The two Corti paused, exchanging worried glances. Strike-Drones were a new war technology the Corti Directorate had intended to sell to both sides of the Celzi-Dominion conflict, ensuring impartiality in their enterprises while reaping a considerable profit. They were a hover platform carrying a heavy kinetic cannon, and had been intended for use on tanks, Vulza, and unfortunate infantrymen. Bekmer wasn't sure why a science vessel would have one, since there were so few reasons why they'd ever need one, and they almost never met with unfortunate... his thoughts trailed off as the pieces began falling into place.

"You said 'damaged'," Treoffa mused, "but I take it you are not suggesting that one of those pods is filled with mopped up remains."

"It can't be..." Bekmer breathed, horror finding its way to his face and contorting it. "They're under containment! There's no way in!"

"What?!" Treoffa asked, the truth of it dawning on her at the same time. They'd been all over the news, in every important conversation, and they were exactly the sort of thing an idiot Robalin like Azhiz would have thought perfect for a soldier.

"It's a human," Bekmer spat, "isn't it, Azhiz?! You've brought a human aboard our ship!" Azhiz recoiled at the vehemence of Bekmer's reaction. "I- I had just thought... the one on the news was fighting Vulza!"

"Where did you even get it?!" Bekmer demanded as Treoffa stood by in clear shock. "Their homeworld is under containment!"

"A Corti science vessel had one they'd not yet returned," Azhiz explained quickly. "They were going to destroy it, or try to destroy it anyway. I convinced them of a more lucrative alternative."

"And then?" Treoffa asked, finding her voice. "Was it they who did the surgery?"

"They tried to," Azhiz continued, "but the dose they used to put the human to sleep was based on records from another human recorded on a hospital ship. This one was more resistant."

"Did it kill everyone on the ship?" Bekmer asked coldly. He'd lost old companions to accidents in human containment breaches.

"It would have if they had not had a strike-drone aboard," Azhiz replied. "It still got twelve out of thirty before it was hit and would have been more if it wasn't for the fact that they were ready for something like that. Once it was down, they prepped him like they originally intended and set him up with a cerebral detonator, basic translator, and a big dose of the new frontline protection serum."

"Thank goodness for that," Treoffa said. "We haven't got any of that on hand."

"They left it injured, however?" Bekmer asked.

Azhiz nodded quickly. "I think they were angry at him. Understandable."

"Unprofessional," Bekmer replied. "We will review the damage to it and see if it can be put to use before we need to destroy it."

Treoffa nodded in agreement. It seemed that neither Corti wished to have a human running around on the ship.

"Now," Bekmer continued, "What else did you bring?"

* * *

"It's conscious," a voice said, and bright white light seared the eyes of Adrian Saunders, blinding him even as he opened them.

He felt as though he was drifting, a strange sensation compounded by the fact that there were two clearly alien beings standing by consoles around him, although at this point the strangeness of little gray men being real had somewhat lost its edge.

Not Heaven then, he thought dreamily. Not that he had ever believed in that or had ever expected to end up there even if he had. This state was not entirely unfamiliar to him - he recognized the effects of too many painkillers when he felt them, although he'd hoped never to be shot again after leaving the military six months ago. Much like the rest of Adrian's hopes, however, that one had also turned to shit.

"Does it understand me?" one of them asked, turning to the other. Its voice was clearly male, but there was a strange dissonance in Adrian's head where alien sounds were twisted into his native English. It also sounded like a total arsehole.

"It should," said the other, this one with a female, but not feminine, voice. She looked at Adrian with all the empathy of a five-year-old boy pulling the wings off of flies. "At least the translator isn't showing any errors."

The male turned to him again. "Can you understand me?"

"Get fucked..." Adrian replied. "Don't need none've that..."

"It seems he hears you," the female noted wryly.

"What you need," the male continued, more intently now, his tone ice cold, "is for your ribs to be re-assembled and for emergency action to be taken to stop your organs from dying. Do you understand?"

"You fuckers shot me," Adrian said, or mumbled. "Flying thing with a big gun on it..."

The male leaned in, scowling - or at least what Adrian thought was a scowl. "Two things: That wasn't us, and those 'big guns' are meant to assault armoured vehicles. You are lucky someone cared enough to keep you alive so that I could put you back together. We are salvage hunters, and today you are our salvage."

"We brought you out of your stasis to run our demands past you," the female interjected.

Adrian processed this for a moment, trying to figure it out through the fog that covered his thinking. "Demands?"

"If we save you, we will feed you, we will arm you, and we will help you get home," the male said. "In return you work for us. You protect us."

"Protect you?" Adrian asked, confused. "What about the flying thing? The... drone thing..."

The two aliens shared a brief glance before turning back to him. "We prefer you for the job. But if you don't want it, then our medical resources are better spent elsewhere. Do we have a deal?"

Adrian was silent for a while, long enough that the two aliens shared what might have been a worried glance.

"Yeah," he said, albeit unhappily. "I guess we have a deal."

* * *

The human was returned to a medical coma with the addition of more drugs. Treoffa decried the sheer amount of medication required to achieve this as a waste of resources better used elsewhere, but Bekmer had ordered her to continue - Treoffa was only second-in-command.

"Ensure his survival," Bekmer had told her as he'd left the human in her care. "Ensure he is returned to a combat ready state as soon as possible. Do whatever you have to do and remember... the soldiers were your idea."

Bekmer had other things to attend to, such as three somewhat disgruntled soldiers currently awaiting an explanation for their abduction and temporary enslavement.

They awaited him in the Zhadersil's brig - the small hold of his salvage craft was not enough to cope with all three - and none of them looked happy.

They rose as he entered the room, separated not only by thick metal bars but a kinetic shield similar to what had encapsulated the human's home star system. The latter was pointless, the bars were heavy enough to contain an enraged Vulza - a curious thing to consider, Bekmer thought - but this was as much about making a statement as it was about containment.

"I am Bekmer," he told them, behaving as much like a commander as he was capable of achieving. "All you need to know is that you have been brought here to protect the salvage opportunity of a thousand lifetimes, and of course the crew carrying it out. Of that crew you have now met the Robalin and myself. There is another Corti, as well as two Rrrrtktktkp'ch, currently involved in this operation."

He stepped closer to them, ignoring their glares of animosity. "Your compliance has been ensured by the addition of cerebral detonators."

They were so shocked that he almost revealed amusement, but that would have been unprofessional. It was more common for slave-soldiers to be unaware of the modification, to be tempted with a prize until they threatened disobedience, but with these three that chance had come and gone well before they'd woken up from suspended animation.

"You," he said, pointing at the Chehnasho, a gaunt amphibious creature with bulging eyes and slick brown-green skin. Chehnasho were frequently employed as mercenaries in conflicts for their cunning and rapid movement in combat. They were an androgynous species, with each individual able to adapt its gender as desired, and this had ensured their spread throughout a multitude of worlds. "Your name?"

"Zripob," Zripob replied with a harsh, croaking voice. "We are slaves, then?"

"For the time being," Bekmer told him. "Work well and you will be released when our work here is done."

Bekmer didn't wait for the Chehnasho's answer, instead turning to the bone, fur and leather arrangement that was a Rauwryhr. They were often employed as scouts for military forces, where they decided to involve themselves, and were able to see well at night as well as take flight to provide an aerial advantage. "And your name?"

The creature gazed at him hatefully before answering. "Trycrur," she replied, her voice so surprisingly feminine that Bekmer nearly revealed his shock. It didn't matter, of course, which gender the creature was so long as it could fight, but Rauwryhr bred with difficulty and rarely allowed their females to risk themselves in combat roles.

Bekmer nodded, pretending that this was what he had been expecting all along and moved to the next caged alien - this one a powerfully built Gaoian male who'd thus far been standing in silence and giving him a black look from beneath fur very nearly as black. "And you, Gaoian?"

"I am Chir," the Gaoian said forcefully. "You'll pay for what you're doing to us!"

"I doubt it very much, Chir," Bekmer replied, tapping the side of his head. "Cerebral detonator, remember?" Chir grunted and threw himself at the bars, grunting with surprise as he was thrown back by the kinetic shield.

"You will be released shortly," Bekmer told them. "Ponder your circumstances until then. Consider how good work and obedience may be rewarded, and how defiance-" he turned his eyes to look at Chir, "meets with destruction. No more warnings."

Bekmer turned on his heel and strode from the brig, leaving sight of the soldiers before exhaling a trembling breath. It was obvious that they hated him, that they may well risk detonation to get at him, and that if that did occur that Bekmer would be in a very poor position to respond in any way that not result in brains splattered everywhere. The human, as far as he could tell, was the only one who didn't have any reason to completely despise him, and was the only one to who Bekmer could offer something beyond the simple prospect of freedom following the work - even if that prospect was a false one. He had to hope that that would be enough.

His communicator beeped, and by reflex he allowed the link to connect before quickly checking the name on it to sound like he had everything under control. "Treoffa? What do you want? Don't tell me the human has-"

"Died?" Treoffa asked, finishing Bekmer's question for him. "No. Although that would have been better, perhaps."

Death would have been better? Bekmer could not hide his surprise this time. "What are you talking about?" he asked irately.

"Come and see," she replied. "Now."

The link disconnected before Bekmer could respond, and he hissed in irate fury while he remained unseen in the empty corridor before hurrying to do as instructed.

Treoffa was not given to fancy, and aside from her enjoyment in taunting Bekmer she was entirely professional - that, after all, was what he found so welcome in her as an occasional mate.

* * *

"This had better be important," Bekmer snapped as he entered the room where Treoffa was busily running scans on the comatose human.

"It is," she assured him.

Undisguised concern was now so evident in her voice that it gave Bekmer pause. "Tell me."

"The damage was severe on a cellular level," she began to explain. "Organ tissue was dying, as was muscle, and that is not even taking into account all of the bone fragments."

"Azhiz told us that much," Bekmer replied impatiently. "A cellular regenerative should have alleviated the former problem."

She nodded. "That was my first step, but there is no information on how to reassemble a human this badly damaged, and so I initiated localized trials for the various possible drugs."

"At least one should have worked," Bekmer said. "We're not entirely unfamiliar with human physiology."

"They all worked," Treoffa replied. "The problem is that the Cruezzir formula had an unexpected result when introduced into the human's gut bacteria."

"Ah yes," mused Bekmer, "the unfathomable infestation of competing microbes living inside an even more unfathomable host. What was unexpected?"

"There was a rapid mutation," continued Treoffa. "One I did not notice until it was too late. The bacteria in question have started producing the same regenerative proteins that the Cruezzir was intended to elicit only whilst it was in the subject's system. He is now effectively self-producing the protein."

Bekmer was silent, looking down at the still body of the human. To his unaided eyes nothing seemed to be changing - it wasn't as if every injury the human had obviously endured was sealing up in front of him. "What is the outcome?" he asked.

"The protein has started to flood his body," Treoffa said, "and all damaged cells are regenerating. There are signs of new growth on the bones already." Bekmer produced a strangled noise, and it was a moment before he could talk again. "Are you telling me you've just taken the most dangerous species in the recorded history of this galaxy and made it stronger?"

She nodded slowly. "What do you want me to do?"

The answer to that took a long time for Bekmer to consider. He stared at the motionless human without thought, numb shock filling the space where logic and cunning usually resided, and a cold knot of fear resting in his gut.

"Follow my original orders," he said at last. "May the Directorate be merciful on me if I am wrong."

* * *

Time had passed. Chir wasn't sure how much, since the ship did not simulate day/night cycles and the Corti slave-masters had not seen fit to provide their slave-soldiers with any means of telling the time. The 'soldiers' had worked out a haphazard roster on their own, based on their varied needs for sleep, and had done their best to work as required. Even Chir had been quiet and obedient, although he considered the chances of ever seeing his beloved homeworld again to be slim.

He was at least not the only soldier in the group; Zripob had served in two major engagements on behalf of the Celzi before the Dominion had paid his company more to serve them for a third. Mercenaries were a rarely advertised part of modern war, and usually took on roles for ship-to-ship action rather than getting blasted into shreds of meat in the planet-bound infantry, and Zripob's experience in this would prove invaluable.

Trycrur, on the other hand, was no soldier at all, but was apparently considered a highly competent weapons designer and had worked in a Dominion military department before she had been snatched. She had been dressed in military colours at the time, however, and it was unsurprising that anyone simply searching for a lone individual in soldier dress would have identified her as anything other than a soldier. She knew, at least, which way to point a gun, but from what Chir could tell this was about the entirety of her soldier skills. If they were attacked by anything other than an immobile target, he doubted she would be of any help.

The three of them rarely moved from their patrol lines around the salvage crew's own ship, although Chir had every indication that there was a lot of ship he did not see. The flight-deck alone was big enough to fit two full Gaoian cruisers, and he wondered at the use its previous owners had put it to. From what he had overheard they had been named the V'strak, and although he was entirely unfamiliar with anything by that name it was clear that the ship was truly ancient and that they valued a great ruggedness in all of their structures. Judging by the lack of cushions, they also valued discomfort - truly alien beings.

"What do you think they're talking about?" Zripob asked him as they met to change over patrol shifts. "The Corti, I mean?"

Chir displayed surprise and turned his attention to the Corti who had emerged from some other part of the great ship and were proceeding towards their salvage vessel. They were speaking quietly, but the conversation was clearly quite heated. They'd been getting more like that lately, and Chir did not like it - angry slave-masters did not make for happy and free slaves.

"I've heard the word 'Human' being said a few times when they thought I couldn't hear," Zripob confided with him quietly. "The way I hear it, Corti haven't exactly got the best relationship with those monsters. Do you think they've pissed one off?"

"They're not so bad," Chir replied. "There is one on my homeworld who has been adopted by the females as one of their own. An excellent protector, and one not aligned with any of the male clans. She is even well respected by our leaders."

"That doesn't help us if these fools have managed to get one's attention," Zripob said. "Who do you think gets sent to fight it first if it turns up looking to turn Corti into gwalish [cold meat stew]?"

Chir clicked his acceptance of the fact. "Hopefully it won't come to that."

* * *

"Hopefully it won't come to that," Treoffa said. "I don't think we have enough medicine left to kill him."

"We could eject him into space," Bekmer suggested, "or we could just start stabbing and see where that takes us!"

"He's not unconscious anymore," Treoffa chided. "I think he may object if you try any of that, and then he'll tear your limbs off and beat us all to death with them."

"But he's mutating!" Bekmer replied angrily, glancing about to make sure the slave-soldiers couldn't hear him. He could see two of them, the Gaoian and the Chehnasho staring in their direction. "Let's get into the ship and talk in private!"

He opened the hatch and allowed Treoffa to enter first, then he closed it behind him before continuing. "He's mutating!"

"He's not!" Treoffa replied sharply. "The gut bacteria have continued to flood him with the formula, and it is affecting his body in unforeseen ways."

"You said his organs have grown!" Bekmer said, almost accusing in his tone. "That doesn't normally happen with Cruezzir! I should know, I've used it myself!"

"Scans do indicate growth in the lungs, most likely compensating for the thin air," Treoffa said. "Although that has ceased since his ribs have regrown. Other organs which appear to be responsible for toxin filtration have also grown somewhat, most likely in response to the drugs we've been feeding him. It now takes thirty percent higher doses to achieve the same effect."

"He's bigger!" Bekmer said, flustered for claims to throw at his second-in-command.

"Yes," Treoffa said, "his muscles grew slightly when I exposed them to mild electrical stimulus. I increased the stimulus, with proportional effects, although it seems to have plateaued for now. It took seventy percent of our remaining food supplies to achieve this, and we'll have to get Azhiz to go and get us more before long."

"Seventy percent..." Bekmer repeated, dumbfounded by the number. That was an incredible amount of food, enough to have lasted them until the end of their work here. "And yet you say he hasn't mutated!"

"He has grown," Treoffa said, "but he is now simply a prime version of a human, and probably biologically immortal if my cell scans are accurate."

"This is too much for my judgement, Treoffa," Bekmer said weakly as he flopped down into his command chair. "He's too dangerous to let survive, and we certainly can't send him back to Earth even if the shield fails. Can you imagine a planet full of biologically-immortal super-beings? We couldn't find a decent attack vector with regular humans, how are we supposed to deal with this?"

"Well whatever you do, don't go threatening him with his cerebral detonator," Treoffa warned him.

Bekmer got to his feet at the mention of the device, suddenly rather more pleased with himself. "I nearly forgot about that! Those idiotic researchers put on in his head as well, didn't they? We can just activate that, and-"

"It's been effectively destroyed," Treoffa interrupted. "His immune system recognized it as a foreign object and has ruined it. I can't say that it'd explode even if you reached into his skull and pressed the button yourself."

"Then there is no helping it, Treoffa," Bekmer said with enormous disappointment. "We have to inform the Directorate."


	2. SEASON 1 CHAPTER 2 Food

Disclaimers:

This story is being cross posted from Reddit with permission from the author, Rantarian.

Link to the original work(remove spaces): Reddit. C om. /r/HFY/wiki/series/salvage

Link to the author' Pat re on(remove spaces): pat re on. C om. / Rantarian

This is part of the larger Jenkinsverse universe. There are 9 chapters of associated works before chapter 1 of Salvage. If you care to read the larger series, please follow the link to the Essential Reading Order (remove spaces): reddit. C om. / r/HFY/wiki/ref/universes/jenkinsverse/essential_reading_order

* * *

Original author's notes:

Where relevant, measurements and explanation are given in brackets following their alien names.

* * *

**Salvage**

**By Rantarian**

**Season 1 | Chapter 2**

**Food**

* * *

Ever since he had woken up, Adrian Saunders had been hungry. The gray alien woman - she had introduced herself as Treoffa and her race as 'Corti' - had provided him with an ample supply of meal tablets that were commonly used for space travellers.

They were bland and offered little in the way of gastronomic satisfaction, but he'd spent enough time in the Middle East eating all sorts of things that made 'bland' seem like a real treat.

After a week of eating several hundred of the things, he would have just about killed for a battered sav or a good pub parma. Maybe with a beer.

"You can't tell me you like these fucking things," he once complained to Treoffa when she brought his first dozen for he morning. "The first couple aren't bad, but you have to admit the rest could use a bit of flavour. Maybe a bit of tomato sauce."

"The rest of us only require a single tablet per meal," Treoffa said disapprovingly. "You are merely a gluttonous species."

Adrian couldn't really argue with that, although he'd never felt like he'd ever simply eating for eatings own sake. If good food had ever defined his life it was in its absence, and aside from too much horse meat while deployed, or too many burnt sausages in his youth, he'd never really had much cause to miss it. Food was just a way to quieten his belly after a long and hard day - he really did miss the tomato sauce, though.

"So how am I, anyway?" he asked Treoffa. "You've kept taking tests, but I'm feeling shitloads better than I ever have. Might be just my imagination, but I reckon I might have put on a bit of muscle as well."

"You have," Treoffa told him. "The medicine has worked better than we had imagined, and your body has been busy optimising itself. Hence the extra muscle, and your brand new rib cage. Normally I would have had to fabricate a replacement, but you managed to create your own."

The things she was saying were good news, Adrian was sure, but her tone was terse and displeased. That was the sort of tone that someone took before they started telling you the bad news, like the good was supposed to mitigate the bad by being said first. Adrian had always been a 'tell me the bad news first' kind of guy; in his opinion it was the only way to stay sane when the good news was bad, and the bad news was truly fucked up. At least then you could end on a note of 'it could have been worse.'

"What are you telling me, Doc?" he asked. "This stuff going to end up giving me cancer?"

Treoffa appeared to consider the possibility for a moment. "No," she said, "it is unlikely. But your body is inuring you to other chemicals, beneficial or otherwise. If you are hurt again we do not have enough painkillers in stock to deaden the sensation. Your caloric requirements have also risen, and we may soon need to ration you heavily so that the rest of us do not starve to death."

"So I get to starve instead?" he asked. He was somewhere between bitter and alarmed - bitter that he may soon be forced to go very hungry, and alarmed that his own eating habits were threatening the crew in general. "Is there something I can do?"

Again, Treoffa appeared to consider his question. "Perhaps, but I will need to run it past Bekmer. I know he was intending to ship in more food, but Azhiz has already been sent to collect more medical supplies. With more crew we might have undertaking a crop growth plan, but with your demanding diet I doubt the standard plans would have supplied us in any case."

"What about my imprisonment in this luxury?" he asked sardonically, gesturing to the sparse medical bay. "Don't mind telling you that if I have to sit around here much longer I'm going to end up going berko."

Treoffa looked puzzled as the translator tried to find a matching translation and then gave up.

"Berserk. Mad. Bloody crazy," Adrian supplied helpfully. He'd already discovered that his typical idioms generally translated bizarrely, and had tried to avoid them when he wanted to make himself understood. It hadn't mattered during his deployment since he usually didn't need to speak the language of wherever he happened to be in bumfuck nowhere, and the density of his Australian slang usually ensured that even if the other folks did happen to speak English they remained completely ignorant as to what he'd just said. That had often been for the best.

A look of worry flashed over her face and she nodded. "I will see what Bekmer says."

* * *

"Continue investigating," Bekmer told his two technicians. "I don't like being denied access to anywhere in our new ship, and we need to ensure everything has been catalogued before we sell it. You never know if there's another fortune just laying around somewhere."

Criq and Mrrgha gestured their compliance, ready to go about their business after delivering their report. They were rarely seen outside of mealtimes, and spent most of their time working on hardware while Bekmer worked on software. Normally he would have Treoffa for help on that, and to act as a go-between to ensure everything was working properly, but while she was busy attending the human that was impossible.

"You still need to prioritise repair," Bekmer called after them as Treoffa joined him. "I don't want anything falling back into pieces because you were trying to get through a door."

"Problem with a door?" asked Treoffa as they left.

"Exploratory efforts continue," Bekmer replied, taking to his command seat once again. "Where possible, anyway."

"Perhaps we could get the human to lend assistance?" Treoffa suggested. "He has told me that if he doesn't get work he intends to wilfully turn psychotic."

Bekmer blinked. "Can they do that?!" he asked, then shook his head in a surprisingly human gesture. "Of course they can! They can do anything! They're the new super-beings, aren't they?! That would certainly explain why they keep killing whole crews of researchers."

"Bitterness does not become you, Bekmer," Treoffa chided. "It is unprofessional - our son will not return, and this human was not responsible. Have the Directorate made a determination yet?"

"They are still conferring," Bekmer said, his bitterness clearly unmitigated. "You can imagine the stir that this has made. Some are calling for extermination while others are calling for further experimentation. All of them want to know where we are."

"And have you told them?" Treoffa asked.

"Of course not," Bekmer replied sharply. "If they send an inspection team before this salvage operation is complete, we may lose all rights over it! You say the human wants to help? Register his physiology with the weaponry and assign him a weapon. The planet below us is rich with fauna and quite frankly he'll be one of the most dangerous things on it. He can _hunt_ for his food."

"That is considerably barbaric," Treoffa said. "I suppose it fits. Who will you have take him down there? Unlike Earth, it has not been subjected to development. It's all jungles, forests and fields."

Bekmer paused. He did not want to go, and he didn't want to send any of his crew down to a Deathworld. "Send the Gaoian," he finally said. "I don't like the look of him, and if they both die I'll sleep better."

* * *

Chir piloted the landing capsule with care, trying to aim for a relatively flat piece of land that was unlikely to immediately destroy them. Beside him sat the human they'd all been surprised to discover was a fellow member of their soldiering group, although Chir hadn't yet had much to say to him. Their initial introductions had started with the human asking him 'if he was some kind of raccoon', and it hadn't exactly improved. At least the human hadn't decided to pick a fight with him - unlike 'Shoo' who resided on his homeworld, this one did look dangerous.

Right now the human was busy peering down at the world below, quietly singing something about 'building a city on rock and roll' - conscientious advice on proper foundations put into song, perhaps? - and not paying too much attention to Chir. Being ignored by the human was something that made Chir feel something between annoyance and relief.

"So you eat meat, yeah?" the human finally said. He was still looking out of the viewing window, but unless he was talking to himself - and Chir wouldn't have been all that surprised - he was talking to Chir.

"I do, yes," Chir confirmed. He wasn't sure where the human was going with this. "I also eat vegetation. I am an omnivore, if that translates?"

The human barked something that Chir guessed was a laugh. "Yeah, mate. That translates. Treoffa says you don't eat much, though. I guess that's why you all do a decent impression of stick figures."

"Is that... an insult?" Chir asked, genuinely confused. It certainly hadn't sounded very flattering, but the human had said it in a tone that seemed good-natured.

The human grinned at him, baring his teeth in a way that Chir had been educated to perceive as friendly rather than incredibly hostile. "Nah, mate. Just talking shit."

Chir wasn't completely up to speed on human physiology, but he was fairly certain that they did not eject fecal matter from their mouths. "I do not think your kind excretes from its mouth," he said dubiously.

The human looked at him a moment before breaking out into more laughter. "Mate," he said, catching a breath. "You've obviously never had to deal with some of our glorious leaders."

Chir motioned that he understood, even though he wasn't anywhere near sure that he actually did. "I take it that you were not one of these glorious leaders?"

The human shook his head. "Not me, mate. I just go where they tell me and fuck shit up. Speaking of which, what the hell does this thing fire? I don't see any ammunition..."

"Ammunition?" Chir asked, looking at the kinetic gun that had been shaped to fit the human's physical configuration. "It runs on energy, this is the primary weapon distributed to soldiers under any government. It fires a powerful blast of kinetic force."

The human looked at the weapon he was holding. "No shit?"

"No shit," Chir repeated, starting to get the feel for the human's way of talking. The bigger versions can really 'fuck shit up'."

"I think I was shot by one before," the human said. "It was fuckloads bigger though. Hurt like hell."

"Your kind is unusually resilient to such weaponry," Chir said. "I have heard news of a human who is the terror of the battlefield. There were stories of this human battling several Vulza at once!"

"What the fuck's a Vulza?" the human asked.

Chir described the great winged lizards with some poetic license. He'd never actually seen one in person - he had been that lucky in life at least - but he'd seen video feeds and static images of the beasts.

"So some kind of space dragon?" the human asked. "You're pulling my fucking leg!"

"I haven't touched you!" Chir replied sharply, before realising that this was yet another of the human's turns of phrase. "I am being truthful!"

The human's face took on a look of contemplative enthusiasm. "Are there any of these things down there?"

Chir shook with shock. "I should hope not! These weapons will be of no use against a Vulza! You might as well resort to bare-handed combat for all these will do you."

"Right," said the human, going quiet. It seemed to Chir that he had come to some kind of decision.

* * *

Adrian had come to a decision. These guns sucked and he needed something better. Just about anything would do, and he thought that if he had a bit of time with a lathe and one or two of these weapons he could come up with something really special. He had been an saboteur and, by necessity, an engineer during his time in the Defense Force and now that he was getting a feel for the technology he was seeing a lot of disappointing shortcomings. Shortcomings that made him as giddy as a schoolboy to solve.

He also wanted to kill one of these dragons. He was fairly sure he could engineer a weapon to shoot a spear at extremely high velocities. He might even be able to make a semi-automatic version, given time. Maybe with high-explosive armor piercing heads.

He giggled. The possibilities seemed endless.

He was getting ahead of himself, however. The raccoon-guy, 'Chir', was his pilot to the surface of the world below, but he had been instructed to stay with the landing ship as much as possible, and to return if any danger threatened it. It was up to Adrian to get his own food for the next two weeks, and Treoffa had gone so far as to give him some kind of alien Esky that, from what he could understand, stored food without needing to freeze it by stopping time when the lid was closed. Good enough for food, he supposed, but rubbish at getting your beers nice and cold.

The landing ship made an almost imperceptible touch-down in what Adrian would have described as an idyllic meadow. Perfect picnic weather in a flat field amidst rolling hills of blue-tinged grass, broken only by the occasional stand of purple-leaved trees. A crystalline blue lake would have added greatly to the effect, but the best it had to offer was a winding, half-full river with muddy shores.

"We need to be careful out there," Chir said, plainly worried.

Adrian looked out of the view window and back at Chir. "Are you fucking kidding me?"

Chir shook his head, having quickly learned to perform the gesture.

"Right then," Adrian said, duly warned. He waited for the door to open and they stepped out into the deathworld. "Time to go gun down some delightful bunny rabbits."


	3. SEASON 1 CHAPTER 3 Hunting

Disclaimers:

This story is being cross posted from Reddit with permission from the author, Rantarian.

Link to the original work(remove spaces): Reddit. C om. /r/HFY/wiki/series/salvage

Link to the author' Pat re on(remove spaces): pat re on. C om. / Rantarian

This is part of the larger Jenkinsverse universe. There are 9 chapters of associated works before chapter 1 of Salvage. If you care to read the larger series, please follow the link to the Essential Reading Order (remove spaces): reddit. C om. / r/HFY/wiki/ref/universes/jenkinsverse/essential_reading_order

* * *

Original author's notes:

Where relevant, measurements and explanation are given in brackets following their alien names.

* * *

**Salvage**

**By Rantarian**

**Season 1 | Chapter 3**

**Hunting**

* * *

Chir followed the human into the alien grasslands. The winds blew with powerful gusts that sent wave-like ripples through the bluish grass that covered the local terrain and nearly knocked Chir off his feet. The human, for his part, seemed entirely unaffected by the inclemency.

"Bit windy," the human remarked. "Nice to feel the sun for a change, though. Guess it's a different one, but same difference, hey?"

"Same difference," Chir repeated, aware that the phrase made absolutely no sense but he was beginning to detect that as a trend with this human. He fingered the trigger of his kinetic gun warily as his feet left the short ramp and stepped onto the land of the deathworld. A chill of fear ran up his body; this was the most dangerous thing he'd ever done.

He looked around him, hardly willing to go any further. He could feel the beat of his heart, his senses grown more alert with fear, and it almost seemed to deafen him. The human was carefree, ignorant and possibly fatally stupid, and it was up to Chir to make sure that Chir survived if nothing else.

In the blue-purple sky he could see distant shadows weaving through the low clouds. Birds of some kind, but moving so fast! There were thirty of them, maybe, flying in perfect formation in the even more powerful air currents above. It was amazing that they could survive them, but this was a Deathworld and what could you expect?

"We should go down to the river," the human suggested. "Animals usually gather there, and if nothing else there might be some fish. Those trees might have some birds, and maybe they have fruit or nuts, too."

"Sound advice," Chir agreed. He was glad that the human at least seemed to know what he was doing when it came to hunting and gathering. He noticed that now that they were on task the human seemed a lot more focused, intensely surveying his surroundings for any sign of... anything. "Perhaps one of us should stand guard by the shore?"

"If I feel the need to get wet I'll know who to have at my back," the human replied. "I've watched enough movies to know that jumping into water on an alien planet is just asking for trouble, though."

"I was not aware your people had made contact prior to the recent incident!" Chir said in surprise.

"We hadn't," the human admitted, "but we do like our stories. My old man had a whole collection of these black-and-white movies, real old things. Most of them total crap, mind you. The Monster from the Black Lagoon, Forbidden Planet, the whole Lost in Space series. Ironic that I never liked them much."

"And they were about dangerous waterways on other planets?" Chir asked. It seemed an oddly specific thing to write so much about, especially given that the human had just admitted that the human species had not even made contact until just recently.

"No, that was just the occasional thing you'd see... other times it would be mutant monsters, invading aliens, or rampaging robots. Crap like that"

"I see," Chir said, hoping to sound like he did. He was familiar with theatrical productions, of course, but the concept of using it to portray imaginary monsters from space was beyond him. Gaoian theatre tended to focus on moral lessons, as did drama in most cultures. Some few used it for comedic value, and he knew the Chehnasho were unique in dramatising their historical records with so much poetic license that it became pure fancy. The idea of stories with so much horror and violence was simply alien to him, as indeed the human was.

"Wait here," the human said as they reached the muddy flat that ran down into the river. There was debris laying here and there, muddy logs and driftwood resting on the riverbank, only partially submerged. The river itself was brown with mud, far from refreshing and likely containing contaminants that would kill a whole clan of Gaoians.

"What are you doing?" Chir asked, as the human took aim at one of the logs. "That-"

The human fired with deadly accuracy, and the log snarled with life. Chir recoiled from the vicious reptilian creature that hissed and growled as the human shot it again with equally unimpressive results. It had looked like a log! Exactly like a decaying log, and yet it had all been a disguise. The reality had been a savage beast laying in wait for the next meal to present itself, and the human had seen straight through it!

"What the fuck is wrong with this piece of shit?!" the human yelled as he shot the beast a third time. "Is yours working or did baldy give me a lemon?"

Chir shot the creature as well, with about as much effect. The creature was clearly predatory, and increasingly pissed off. Others of its kind were also starting to move, albeit lethargically.

"It seems to be in perfect working order," he told the human, his voice wavering. "Perhaps a retreat is in order?"

"This thing is about as useful as shit on a stick," the human declared, and hurled the gun at the creature with all of his might. The gun struck the monster in the head with a loud crack, toppling it with the force of the blow.

Chir and the human both stood in shock as the dazed creature writhed on the ground, struggling to get to its feet.

"You've got to be fucking joking," the human said, staring at the open palm of the hand he had thrown the weapon with.

"Your gun is gone," Chir reminded him. "We can always get another, but there are another... four of them! They're converging on us!"

"Mate," the human said, looking up with the most predatory grin Chir had ever seen on a sentient being. "Have you ever heard of the Crocodile Hunter?"

* * *

Adrian ran towards the next of the monsters, feeling more alive than he'd done in years. Adrenaline surged through his body and he could feel _everything_. But this wasn't an adrenaline surge borne of fear - oh no - this was borne of the ecstasy of the fight.

The monsters were reptilian creatures with long legs, some way between dogs and crocodiles, but heavily favouring the latter. He'd considered calling them 'dogodiles', but decided that that was fucking stupid and 'Wolfigators' was much better.

The Wolfigator he'd approached leapt at him with a sudden ferocity and speed their normal movement belied. Adrian was no stranger to ambush predators, however - how many months had he spent training in the outback? - and old infighter reflexes took over. He dodged to the side and delivered a slamming blow to the side of its head.

The Wolfigator went down in a sprawling mess, and Adrian could have sworn he'd felt the skull fracture under his blow, but it was still getting up again. They were tougher than he'd thought, but not quite as tough as he'd hoped. He leapt onto its back, wrapping his newly-muscle-bound arms around its neck, his legs around its legs, and _squeezed_.

* * *

"Die you motherfucker!" the human screamed at the troubled alien monster. He slammed its head down onto the ground repeatedly as its body spasmed in an attempt to get free.

Chir watched on in horrified excitement. The monsters had all been attracted to the current threat, the human, and he was putting on quite the show. When he'd determined that strangulation wasn't going to do the job, he'd simply resumed punching it in the head until it stopped moving, and then rolling off the corpse before the remaining three could lunge at him.

"Punching them takes too much effort," he shouted, presumably to Chir. "I need something a bit harder. Find me a good sized rock while I keep them distracted."

Chir looked around, glad at finally having something to do. He was, after all, an armed Gaoian warrior, and it was shameful for him to sit by and allow an unarmed man to do all the fighting. The human seemed to have gained some humility now, since he'd restrained himself to just punching the ones that made a lunge at him.

Finally Chir found one! It was a good sized rock, although Chir doubted it would be much use against creatures from a Deathworld. But as the human was also from a Deathworld, maybe he could make it work! He threw it to the human with all his might. "Catch!"

* * *

Adrian caught the large pebble by reflex, and found the ridiculous uselessness of it so ludicrous that for a moment he forgot what he was doing and almost earned a mouthful of sharp teeth for the privilege.

"What the fuck is this supposed to be, fuck knuckle?!" he shouted. "I asked you for a rock!"

"That's the biggest one that could find!" Chir protested.

"What about all those fucking things sticking out of the mud?" Adrian demanded. He could clearly see a dozen fist-sized rocks jutting out of the mud, up near where the grass grew and where Chir was standing, all there for the taking.

"Those are far too heavy to lift!" Chir replied, as if the very concept of pulling them out was entirely absurd.

"Give me strength!" Adrian snarled as he punched the next Wofligator in the side of the head. This time he grabbed its upper jaw and put his boot into the lower. With a moment of effort there was a sick, wet rending sound and the lower jaw was torn away revealing bone and gore. The Wolfigator shuddered in his arms and fell still.

Adrian picked up the jawbone.

* * *

Chir could not believe what he had just seen. The human had ripped apart the monster's skull and killed it in one horrific move. It had been far more violent than anything he had done so far, even the punching, and he felt sick from having watched it.

But only two of the monsters now remained, and they seemed to have at least the awareness to try to encircle their prey. If they decided to strike at the same time, Chir wondered if the human would get out unscathed.

The rock, the largest that Chir had been able to lift, had been derided by the human as being so inadequate that he had merely tossed it aside. The human was now reduced to using the jaw as a primitive weapon, swinging it so as to ward the monsters off. He was backing off, though... the human seemed like he was in trouble!

_If nothing else I can distract one_, Chir thought. It might give the human a chance to get away, or to gain better ground.

He took aim at the nearest of the monsters, and then fired.

* * *

A kinetic blast hit the Wolfigator to his left in the head, stunning it long enough for Adrian to belt it in the other side of its head with its old friend's jawbone. The jawbone broke when it struck the skull, but the skull itself exploded in gore.

He leapt the corpse before it could fall, putting it between himself and the other Wolfigator, and giving him time to come up with another plan.

Right now he knew three things. First, his hands hurt like hell from all the punching he was doing, and he suspected he'd got at least some hairline fractures in his bones; second, he had no weapons other than his aching hands; and third, there was probably only this one Wolfigator left to hunt on this particular river bank.

Unlike a crocodile, it was not a completely unintelligent beast. It had clearly been trying to work with the others in some sort of pack, and that meant some form of intellect no matter how rudimentary. It also meant that there was something bigger out there that they'd have to work together to take down. Adrian wondered what that was, and if it would taste any good. He reckoned Wolfigator at least would taste kind of like Croc.

His eyes fell on a pair of rocks - proper rocks - nearby. One stone, the other a mud-smeared piece of quartz. "Hey, Chir," he shouted, "think you could distract this bastard for me?"

Chir responded by taking aim and pulling the trigger on his kinetic gun repeatedly, knocking the beast around a greatly infuriating it in the process. It looked as though the weapon hurt the creature, at least somewhat, but that the most it could cause would be severe bruising. That didn't matter, though, because a proper weapon would soon be in hand.

* * *

Chir watched the human move while keeping the monster under sustained fire. He tried to hit it in such a way that would deter it from following the human, who was clearly trying to escape at this point, but all it seemed to be doing was enraging the creature into greater savagery. He hoped the human would make it to the grass in time, and that together they could escape this bloody nightmare and flee back to their shared enslavement.

_Stars above_, he thought to himself, _did I really just think of enslavement as the better option?_

After the seventh shot, the monster was no longer responding to the kinetic blasts, having achieved the point of total rage, and was now chasing after the human who had a mercifully good head start.

Chir's sigh of relief was cut short as the human fell to the ground, heaving an enormous rock from the ground and bringing it down against another. It shattered on impact, and the human cried out in equal parts jubilation and pain.

"What are you doing?!" Chir cried out. "Run for it you psychopath!"

The human just looked at him, caked with mud and blood and gore, with the same predatory grin from before. In his hand was a sharp and clean white stone with a wicked edge.

* * *

"Take this motherfucker!" Adrian cried as he drove the makeshift axe-blade into the Wolfigator's neck. The flesh there tore apart like tissue paper under the keen edge, and blood gouted out in a brief torrent as the important arteries were slashed open.

Blood was everywhere, and the blade was slick with it in his hand as he brought it down again, jamming it in behind the creature's neck where its spine was supposed to go. It stopped moving after that, and Adrian allowed himself to sit back and rest as the adrenaline drained from his body.

He looked over to Chir. "Now that," he said, "was a rock."

Chir sat quietly in the ship as the human - Adrian, as he preferred to be called - carried in packaged meat and stowed them in the food preservers. He had taken his time about it, cutting off the thick skin with the declared intention of turning it into clothing.

Chir growled to himself. Wearing the flesh of animals? The human was a true savage.  
And yet, Chir was forced to consider, that same savagery had been enough to annihilate five extremely dangerous predators with marginal help from the Gaoian warrior who should have been at the forefront of any battle. Chir burned with shame at that fact, and he almost resented the human for making him feel that way.

"Remind me to get a metal spear made for my next trip down here," Adrian said to him as he stowed the last of the meat that would fit in the preservers. The skins he had lain out tidily on the floor next to them, and it had taken Chir all his willpower to avoid retching at the stink and sight of them.

"You intend to come down again?" Chir asked, incredulous that anyone might want to repeat this experience. "Why would you possibly need to do that? You've got enough meat here for... I don't even know how long!"

"Maybe two weeks," Adrian replied. "We eat more than you, remember?"

Chir stared at the preservers. He had heard of 'Shoo's' extreme dietary requirements, but next to this colossal quantity of food she seemed entirely reserved.

"I haven't been able to fit it all in, though," Adrian continued. "There's a fair bit I couldn't get together for it, I think two entire legs, and then some."

"A pity that your bloodbath will not have all the results you desired," Chir replied sarcastically. Then he sniffed the air - something was burning!

"I smell fire!" he said sharply. "If there's a grassfire here, we're likely to be caught in the conflagration if we do not depart immediately."

"Easy there, big fella!" Adrian said, starting to smile again. "Since you eat meat, I figured I might put together a little something we have on Earth."

"You're cooking?" Chir asked, surprised more than anything that the savage would actually cook its meat. He knew from the reports that 'Shoo' would eat many meats entirely raw, and she was far from the savage that this human represented.

"Yeah, mate," Adrian continued. "We call it 'barbecue'."


End file.
